Bouquets of Words
by Silver Sailor Ganymede
Summary: Thirty drabbles/vignettes based on the language of flowers. Each will focus on a different pairing. New: Red Rose. Lily/James. Lily wished the James would stop calling her 'Lily flower'.
1. Lily

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Bouquets of Words  
By Silver Sailor Ganymede

I. Lily

_White lilies symbolise purity. Dreaming of lilies in winter signifies frustration of hopes and the premature death of a loved one._

Severus had dreamed of lilies that night – a beautiful bouquet of pure white lilies, the most wonderful he had ever seen. She was there with him, his beautiful Lily, and she was smiling, her green eyes alight with happiness just like they always were when they were children. That was how he knew it was a dream; she hadn't smiled at him like that in years.

He had woken up wanting to cry; he hadn't dreamed of her so vividly in a long, long time. She was always there somewhere, yes, but never so happy, never so alive, never so close to him. She hated him now and it was more than he deserved.

It was a matter of hours later when he heard what had happened, that the Dark Lord was gone. That would have brought him joy except for the fact that she was gone as well. He had failed to protect her. He had failed. She was gone _because of him_.

All Severus he wanted was to go back to the dream he had had that night, back to smelling the fresh scent of white lilies and seeing the warmth in her beautiful green eyes.

He didn't go to the funeral. What business would he have showing his face there? Potter's friends would sneer and snarl and soon they would realise that he was guilty and they would kill him. It would be just what he deserved.

It was weeks before Severus forced himself to visit her grave, but when he did he left a single white lily there. It was just another flower among hundreds, and she had hated him for years before she died, but Severus thought it was fitting. She was innocent and pure and didn't deserve to have died. Even in the icy grey graveyard, the flower looked beautiful. He had charmed it so that it would stay beautiful forever, just like she would.

Severus would have given anything to be in her place (it was more than he deserved) – but to die would have been selfish of him. He wouldn't allow himself the peace of death until he had done something, anything, to make up for what he'd done.

One day he would see her again and he'd give her lilies and she'd smile. One day.


	2. Petunia

II. Petunia

_Resentment, anger, your presence soothes me._

Vernon was the only person Petunia loved that Lily hadn't stolen from her. Her mother, her father, aunts, uncles, grandparents – they had all loved Petunia before her sister was born, but Lily had immediately stolen them all. Pretty little Lily flower, who had a witch's green eyes and a witch's talent for cursing everyone around her and making them into mindless fools: she had stolen everything. Well, she was never going to steal Petunia's Vernon from her. Never.

That was why, when Vernon gave her a bouquet of lilies for her birthday, Petunia wanted to scream and shout, to tear the flowers to shreds, fling the bouquet back in his face and tell him to get out, to leave, that he was as bad as the rest of them and she never wanted to see him again.

It took her a few seconds to see sense. He wasn't to know. He didn't even know that she _had _a sister, let alone that her lovely perfect hideous creature of a sister was called _Lily_. The flowers didn't mean anything; he had just wanted to be nice, wanted to be the sweet, loving Vernon that he always had been around her. He wasn't to know: if Petunia had her way he never _would _know. She wasn't going to lose her Vernon to that _stupid little girl_. She had lost too much already.

So Petunia smiled and said thank you and put the flowers in a vase on the kitchen table. Vernon must have noticed that something was wrong though; he never bought her lilies again.


	3. Narcissus

III. Narcissus

_Egotism; formality; stay as sweet as you are._

Lucius didn't think he'd ever met anyone quite like Narcissa Black. She was nothing like her sisters, both of whom were dark and stern, the eldest sneering and snickering and ever so slightly insane, the other solemn and stern and never smiling.

Not Narcissa. She was quiet and sweet, always polite, always formal and quite sure of her own beauty. Not egotistical like Bellatrix (such a hideous quality in a woman) but confident. Not mournful like Andromeda (what secret was she hiding? And why did he care?) but content.

Sometimes Lucius would see her lying by the lake and staring dreamily into the waters. If no one rescued her from her dreams she would drown in her own reflection, and what a waste that would be. Lucius vowed that he would not let Narcissa Black become another Narcissus; not even those flowers were as beautiful as she, and he was not about to let such beauty go to waste.


	4. Pansy

IV. Pansy

_Thoughts, love._

Draco always sent her pansies on her birthday. Pansies for Pansy - it was their little joke and it always made her smile. Only Draco ever sent her pansies. She didn't really like the flowers themselves (if anyone else had sent her pansies, she would have left them to wilt in the corner of some dusty, seldom-used room so she never had to see them) but the fact that Draco had sent them was enough to make her love them.

Then one year the pansies didn't appear. There was no note from Draco telling her how wonderful she was, how much he loved her. She didn't like the flowers themselves, but her birthday suddenly felt like an impossibly empty occasion without any present from Draco being there. Pansy almost went out and bought herself some, but that wouldn't have been right. Pansies were only nice if they were from Draco; buying herself some wouldn't have been the same.

She told herself that he was obviously just busy. Of course he was busy. He was so busy that her birthday had just slipped his mind. It was to be expected. It didn't mean anything. He would send her flowers again eventually.

Three days later the Daily Prophet announced the engagement of Draco Malfoy to one Astoria Greengrass, and Pansy felt as though all the flowers in the world had wilted.


	5. Lavender

V. Lavender

_Devotion._

Lavender had always loved the fact that she was named after a flower. Her parents couldn't have come up with a better name for her than Lavender (not like Brown. Her surname was ugly and boring and dull – brown was such a hideous colour, but lavenders were a lovely shade of purple).

Lavender loved her name even more when she found out that lavender was a symbol of devotion. It was perfect for her, really perfect, because she know that she would be utterly and honestly devoted to anyone who would give her his heart.

When she started going out with Ron Weasley in her sixth year, Lavender felt as though all the fairytales she'd ever read had come true at once. He was handsome and charming and sweet and Lavender finally, finally had her one true love to be devoted to for the rest of her life.

Then it all shattered. Lavender realised that even though she was utterly devoted to Ron, he wasn't in love with her, not by a long shot. His gaze always drifted to that awful Hermione Granger whenever he thought that Lavender wasn't looking. She couldn't hate him for it (she didn't think he even knew what he was doing), but she realised she couldn't love him anymore after that.

Lavender means devotion, and how can you possibly be devoted to someone who doesn't love you back? No matter how much she loved him, Ron Weasley had never given her his heart – and she knew he never would.


	6. Acacia

VI. Acacia

_Secret love._

Andromeda stared at the flowers Ted had just handed her, not quite believing what she was seeing. He hadn't given her roses like she'd expected. No, he'd given her _this_.

"_Acacias_?" she said. "Really? Isn't this just stating the obvious?"

Ted grinned shyly at her before staring intently at the floor.

"I made a mistake again, didn't I?" he sighed. "I asked some of the girls in my year about flowers, and I thought that they said acacias were supposed to symbolise a secret love. I guess I got it wrong though."

The disappointed look in Ted's eyes was enough to make Andromeda remember that he was a muggle born. He was a muggle born whose family lived on a council estate in Birmingham; of course the language of flowers wasn't going to mean anything to him. These sorts of coded messages were obvious to her, but Ted's world was different. Of course it was.

She sighed. "No, you got it right. It's just… it wasn't what I was expecting. That's all. Thank you. They're lovely."

Ted laughed. "Good. I was worried for a minute there." Then he smiled at her, properly smiled, and said "Next time I'll get you roses. No chance of a misunderstanding then."

Andromeda was surprised for a moment, but then she told herself that of course his muggle family would have taught him to at least understand the meaning of roses. Even they weren't that oblivious.


	7. Begonia

VII. Begonia

_Beware._

"I know she's beautiful, Rodolphus," Augustus Rookwood sighed, slamming his Ancient Runes textbook shut and turning to glare at Rodolphus. "Even a blind man could see that much."

"Then why," Rodolphus growled, "Are you being so insistent that I keep away from her?"

"She's Bellatrix Black. Doesn't that speak for itself?" Augustus drawled. "Beautiful Bellatrix Black. Delightful and deadly as a bouquet of begonias. Beware the beautiful Bellatrix Black."

"Are you sure that book isn't hexed? You sound like even more of an idiot than usual," Rodolphus replied with a sneer, now doubly determined that Bellatrix would soon be his.

That was when Rodolphus was reminded of exactly why Augustus Rookwood was in charge of the school's duelling club. He never spoke so openly around the other boy again.


	8. Buttercup

VIII. Buttercup

_Cheerfulness. _

She wore robes of buttercup-yellow and a sunny smile to match. This struck Neville as being a little strange – not because it was Luna (dull, dark robes would have been much odder on her than bright yellow ones) but because her demeanour and outfit just didn't fit the current situation. He would have thought that even Luna would have taken to wearing dreary, inconspicuous clothes when she heard that _he _had finally got the power he was after; he would have thought that she would at least have tried not to draw attention to herself.

Not Luna. Her cheerful, dreamy disposition was the same as ever, and so were her bright and bizarre outfits. Not even her radish earrings had changed. Luna was exactly the same as ever, and it was almost enough to make him want to kiss her from the relief that at least _someone_ hadn't changed completely.

Only Luna Lovegood could still be so bright and happy in the middle of a war.


	9. Daisy

IX. Daisy

_Innocence._

Ginny could still remember the first summer Harry spent with them, when she was just a star-struck little girl with a crush and he was Harry Potter, saviour of the world and her older brother's best friend. He never noticed her back then.

During that summer, she would sit and make daisy chains while Harry and her brothers played Quidditch on the brooms that she wasn't allowed to fly. She was a girl, she was too delicate, she could get hurt.

It was only a handful of months later that Ginny realised that there were things out there that could hurt a person far worse than a fall from a broomstick.

Things changed over the next few years, changed more than Ginny could ever have imagined. She saw things she would never have wished on anyone, not even those who made her see them: but they got through it. Harry saved them all again.

Now life was different but it is good. Now she was Ginny Potter, international Quidditch star and wife of Harry Potter (no longer the fragile, star-struck girl who wasn't allowed near a broomstick in case she got hurt. She had survived far worse things than falls from broomsticks.)

No matter how good her life had become, there was still a part of Ginny that wished she could go back to that first summer; it was the last time she had ever made daisy chains.


	10. Hibiscus

X. Hibiscus

_Delicate beauty._

Daphne was drinking hibiscus tea again. She seemed to have taking a liking to the drink of late: hibiscus tea and bright pink, willow-patterned teacups.

Theodore couldn't understand it. Daphne had always had an aversion to everything pink or red, claiming that the colours were hideous and aggressive and horribly Gryffindor. She was right, of course, which made the current situation even more peculiar.

Daphne put the teacup back down on the saucer. Theodore noticed that her fingernails were painted bright red: such a bold colour, it only made her wrists and fingers seem even more dainty, more delicate, like she would snap as soon as someone touched her. She was painted red and made of fine china, just like those awful teacups.

"What are you staring at?" Daphne sighed, her eyes flashing dangerously. One thing hadn't changed; Daphne's gaze still resembled the killing curse.

That's when he figured it out. She had changed everything around her from wonderful green to hideous, bloody red because the war was over, because anyone who dared to show that they had been a member of Slytherin house would be persecuted for it. Better to pretend; much better – only pretending would make Daphne shatter soon enough.

"You're really too beautiful to be worrying about such nonsense," he said aloud. "Let me sort things out. I'm a man, it's what I'm here for."

The nearest teacup went sailing straight over Theodore's head. He raised an eyebrow.

"And that, my dear, is why you shouldn't worry. You're too violent."

"Do you want me to curse you, Theodore?"

Her eyes flashed like a killing curse again. Theodore smirked in response.

"You can curse me if you want, darling," he drawled, "But only if you get rid of those hideous teacups."


	11. Iris

XI. Iris

_Faith._

Neville didn't mean to cry in front of her. He was supposed to be the strong one, and Hannah of all people needed him to be strong. She had lost more than most in the war; all her family were gone now, every single one of them. She should have been the one crying, not him. He hadn't lost everything, had he? He still had Gran, didn't he? He shouldn't have been crying in front of her.

"It's alright, Neville," she whispered. "It's fine. You don't have to bear everyone else's problems as well as your own."

Neville didn't reply. Instead he shook his head and sighed. "I can't do this. I'm not strong enough."

"You shouldn't have to," Hannah replied. "You _don't_ have to. And you _are _strong; you're the strongest person I've ever met. You can get through this: we all can. I have faith in you."

The fact that she meant what she said only made him cry harder.

"I'll try, Hannah. For you."


	12. Jasmine

XII. Jasmine

_Attracts wealth._

Draco Malfoy was very young when he made up his mind that Daphne Greengrass was the most beautiful girl in the entire world. It was appropriate, he thought, that she had been named after a nymph. She had long, blonde hair and bright green eyes, which meant she was truly beautiful, the perfect material for a wife (not like the simpering Pansy Parkinson, who was dark and pug-like and just wouldn't do. He needed a nymph, not a dog).

Unfortunately for Draco, Daphne was as cold and chaste as the nymph after whom she had been named. She avoided his advances with just as much grace as she avoided the flirtations of other, lesser men. It was most offensive.

Draco could not stand to be ignored, so he turned his attentions aside and found something even better. Where Daphne was a nymph, Asteria was a titan – even more beautiful and formidable and powerful than her older sister, with hair that shone like moonlight and sparkling stars for eyes. Where Daphne would have been only a wife to him, Asteria was a suitable queen.

He was a pureblood man; a beautiful, powerful wife was his birthright, and if one sister spurned him then the other would be his. He would make sure of it.


	13. Yarrow

XIII. Yarrow

_Healing._

Luna had a new necklace. Normally Dean wouldn't have noticed, but Luna's necklace seemed to be made entirely of different coloured petals. A girl wearing a necklace of flowers was something so normal that it looked strange; this was Luna after all, and Luna didn't really do normal.

"What are those?" Dean asked, pointing to the necklace. The shades in the necklace were quite lovely – yellow, red, purple, pink. Pale colours, pretty colours, living colours.

"Yarrow," Luna replied. "They help to heal Nargle bites. They have awfully sharp teeth, but most people don't seem to realise that. I'll make you one if you like."

Dean said that yes, he'd like that, because even though he didn't believe in Nargles, there were many other things that needed healing. Flowers were a reminder that even when their world seemed ruined, nature still ran its course and the Earth still lived.

Sometimes it takes a tragedy to make you realise how beautiful the world really is.


	14. Ivy

XIV. Ivy

_Fidelity._

There was ivy on Justin's parents' house: thick tendrils of ivy that wound gracefully around windowsills and across windows. It was very much like Susan's Aunt Amelia's house – so alike in fact that she had thought she was dreaming.

"Are you alright?" Justin asked her, a concerned frown on his face. It was typical of him to become worried so easily.

"This is just like Aunt Amelia's house," Susan said eventually. "Or at least what Aunt Amelia's house used to be like."

She didn't know what it was like now. She hadn't seen her Aunt's house since before the war broke out.

"I suppose that I… well, I wasn't expecting it to look so familiar."

Justin smiled at her. "Maybe our worlds aren't quite as different as you thought."


	15. Marigold

XV. Marigold

_Pain and grief._

Sometimes Theodore found himself wondering how Draco had managed to get himself sorted into Slytherin. Yes, he was rather charming and somewhat cunning when he needed to be, but he was also completely and utterly oblivious sometimes – rather similar to Blaise, in fact, which was probably why the two despised each other.

Draco was currently nursing his wounded pride and staring moodily into the fire in the common room. He had been the laughing stock of the whole house since they had heard that he'd managed to get himself punched by a mudblood, and a mudblood girl at that.

Theodore, of course, had seen the whole thing, though he was never going to let Draco find that out. Hermione Granger had lost her temper and punched him squarely on the nose, brawling like a common muggle. That wasn't what had caught his attention (mudbloods were bound to act like uncivilised barbarians); no, what Theodore had noticed was the raw power surrounding the Granger girl – a power that he would have thought only purebloods could possess.

The girl was powerful despite the fact that she was a mudblood. Even Draco-the-ever-oblivious had obviously sensed that (though he really never would admit it, would he?) and that was why he was sulking so much. There was nothing more attractive to lines like the Malfoys, the Blacks and the Rosiers than barely-controlled, emotionally charged magic, just like Granger had almost unleashed before deciding (whether consciously or not) to hit Draco instead.

"What are you glaring at, Nott?" Draco snapped at last.

Theodore smirked at him in response. "I was just thinking that you should marry for beauty rather than power, Malfoy. Your line is unstable enough as it is."

Draco sneered in reply and went back to glowering sulkily into the fire, and Theodore decided that it was better for everyone if Draco remained oblivious to what he was actually feeling. Any offspring of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would bring complete chaos to the world, and one Dark Lord was quite enough, thank you very much.


	16. Balsamine

XVI. Balsamine

_Impatience._

Audrey was quite used to Percy being a little eccentric. Initially he struck people as a stern workaholic (which he was, in part, seeing as he appeared from nowhere at goodness only knew what time of the morning, telling her that he'd only just escaped the mounds of paperwork he had to complete), but the more one got to know him, the more eccentric Percy Weasley appeared.

The first of Percy's oddities was the fact that she had seen him wearing what looked like robes and carrying round a long stick for no apparent reason, which had led her to wonder whether he was a member of some neo-pagan cult. Audrey soon realised that this was obviously not the case, as Percy seemed to regard all forms of religion as nonsense, especially any that involved the use of crystal balls or tarot cards ("It's a very imprecise branch of study," he'd huffed, "And I fail to see why anyone would take it seriously.")

The next peculiarity he had was the fact that he always wrote with a quill. She remembered seeing him attempt to write with a ballpoint pen at one point, and anyone would have thought that that simple, everyday object was utterly bizarre and alien to him. Eventually she decided that Percy was just overly fond of old-fashioned things and left him be.

It wasn't just pens, though. Percy had been known to look at cars and light bulbs and even the television with a perplexed look on his face, and sometimes seemed to forget the difference between the different coins and notes even though she was certain he'd never lived anywhere other than Britain, and so shouldn't have found the currency so odd.

These little, strange things meant that Audrey wasn't surprised when Percy sat her down and said that he something he needed to tell her, something very important. She knew he wasn't joking because Percy didn't really do jokes, and after he had talked himself in circles for five minutes without actually telling her this important thing (whatever it was) Audrey was beginning to get very impatient indeed.

"Oh get on with it, Percy," she sighed at last. "If it's this important then I need to know, don't I? So just tell me."

"I'm… I'm a wizard, Audrey," he said at last.

Audrey's first instinct was to laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. What do you _really_ need to tell me?"

"I'm a wizard," Percy repeated, looking deadly serious and closer to abject terror than she'd ever seen him before.

That was the point where he took that stick he insisted on carrying around out of his pocket and proceeded to turn the television into a mouse and back again.

"So…" he said at last.

"Oh," she replied. "I'm glad to know I'm not going mad. I've been wondering for ages why you always insist on carrying around that blasted stick of yours."

Percy smiled.


	17. Rosemary

XVII. Rosemary

_Remembrance._

Romilda Vane spent her youth chasing after heroes. Only the talented, famous, handsome and courageous would do for Romilda – a weedy, shy boy like Colin Creevey didn't even register.

The problem was that Colin wouldn't leave her alone. He had been somewhat star-struck around her ever since her first year (his second) and Romilda could see why; she was a pureblood, she was talented, she was beautiful. Who wouldn't adore someone like her? But why would a snivelling little muggleborn like Colin have thought he had a chance at all?

It was only after Colin was killed that Romilda realised a hero had loved her all along.


	18. Evening Primrose

XVIII. Evening Primrose

_Inconsistency._

Sometimes Daphne wondered what she saw in Blaise. He was wonderfully thoughtful and charming most of the time, and of course he was almost ridiculously handsome, but his behaviour often left her wanting to kill him.

Like now, for instance. He had managed to be (or at least pretend to be) completely oblivious to what day it was, and he couldn't have picked a worse day to spend ignoring her – whether on purpose or not, she didn't know, but she still didn't like it.

Blaise sat down on the sofa next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She flinched away, moved to the other end of the sofa and sneered at him as venomously as she could.

"What's wrong with you?" Blaise snapped.

"Nothing's wrong with _me_, Blaise," Daphne replied tersely. "You're the one that's wrong."

"What, am I not allowed to touch you now?"

"That's not the problem."

"What problem?"

"It's Valentine's Day you idiot!" Daphne couldn't quite believe that Blaise had really, honestly forgotten. He was just being his usual self, trying to wind her up.

"So?" Blaise replied, a slight sneer on his face now "Why would you want to celebrate a stupid muggle holiday anyway?"

"Blaise, that is not the point!" she groaned.

"Then what _is_ the point?"

The he shouldn't wind her up? That he shouldn't have completely ignored her all day? That he shouldn't have been leering at Lisa Turpin across the Great Hall? Of course she wasn't going to say that; he wouldn't listen anyway.

"You're… you're utterly incorrigible."

She got up and flounced out of the room, not caring that people were staring at them now. If he wanted to avoid arguing then he should have learnt not to be such an idiot, shouldn't he?

Daphne sighed. If he weren't so inconsistent then he would have been perfect… but Blaise was never going to be reliable.


	19. Violet

XIX. Violet

_Modesty._

He was wearing violet robes. Ginny would have thought that Draco would at least have had the sense to wear something inconspicuous, yet there he was, flouncing around in ghastly violet robes and looking awfully peacock-like. It was so ridiculous that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The Malfoys were ruined now, completely ruined, but Draco didn't seem to have grasped that concept. He still seemed to think he had the whole world bowing at his feet, and instead of staying out of her way, which he would have if he had any sense, he was heading straight towards her.

"You're looking quite wonderful, Weasley" Malfoy drawled. "We can tell you're female now you've somehow got the money to buy some decent robes rather than wearing your brothers' cast-offs."

"Still throwing around old insults, are you?" Ginny sighed. "If that's the best you can come up with then you need to learn to be a bit more creative. Now will you kindly leave me alone?"

"Why should I? I only look even more dashing when placed next to something like you."

"Never one for modesty, were you, Malfoy?" she sneered, wondering whether the entire war had just gone straight over Draco's head. He was as arrogant and unpleasant as ever, even if the purple robes didn't make him look quite so idiotic as she'd first thought.

He smirked at her. "Unlike you, Weasley, I can afford the best of everything – and I always have been able to. I don't need to rely on the charity of some war hero." He spat out the last words with more contempt than she would have ever thought possible.

"I don't think even you have enough money to buy your soul back," Ginny sneered.

He looked so lost at those words that she almost felt sorry for him; evidently he hadn't been so oblivious to the war as he was trying to make out.


	20. Viscaria

XX. Viscaria

_Will you dance with me?_

Millicent wasn't surprised that nobody had asked her to dance. Of course they hadn't; she was Millicent Bulstrode, a filthy half-blood who possessed about as much grace as a troll. Well, that's what Pansy always said, and while Millicent was inclined to ignore the comment about her heritage, she privately agreed with Pansy that she had no grace whatsoever.

She had always been particularly jealous of Daphne Greengrass because Daphne had it all. Daphne was beautiful, with dark blonde hair and bright green eyes, the voice of a lark and the grace of a swan. Daphne was the best dancer Millicent had ever met – but Daphne was the only other girl there who wasn't dancing.

Well, it wasn't as though Millicent was about to be dancing with anyone soon either, was it?

"Umm, Millie?"

Millicent turned round and glared at Gregory Goyle, who was standing awkwardly next to her.

"Yes, Greg?"

"Umm," he mumbled again. Millicent wondered why he was being so shy; they'd known each other for years. "Well."

"What is it?" she sighed.

"Will you dance with me?" he said at last, still not looking her in the eye.

Millicent was about to refuse, but then she stopped herself. This was Greg: big, clumsy, dull-as-a-brush (her muggle grandmother's saying seemed fitting) Greg who probably had about as much grace as she did.

"Alright," she said, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

That was when it hit her: she, Millicent Bulstrode, the girl with the grace of a troll, was dancing – and pretty, perfect Daphne Greengrass was still sitting at that table, looking bored out of her mind. Millicent knew that that shouldn't have made her happy, but it did.


	21. Rue

XXI. Rue

_Regret._

Even when her hair was starting to go grey with age, people asked Cho whether she regretted letting Harry go. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One: didn't she ever wish that she had stayed with him, that she was the one on his arm rather than Ginny Weasley? Didn't she ever wish that she was the famous Quidditch star instead of working in a shop on Diagon Alley and being married to a muggle?

Cho thought they were ridiculous. She had been sixteen years old and he fifteen: they were only children back then. True love rarely appeared at such a young age - well, in the real world at least; the wizarding world was small and warped that almost everyone married people they had had crushes on as schoolchildren. That was why she had married a muggle; their world wasn't so incestuous.

Cho had many regrets in life, but not being married to Harry Potter certainly wasn't one of them.


	22. Aconite

XXII. Aconite

_Misanthropy._

'Aconite. Monskhood. Wolf's bane. Large amounts of it can be used to kill a fully grown werewolf.'

Remus Lupin glared at the page in front of him. As far as most wizards and witches were concerned, werewolves weren't human at all. They were mad, bloodthirsty creatures inclined to murder even when the animal inside them hadn't taken over. They were dangerous and cruel and had to be killed.

Werewolves certainly weren't shy, eleven-year-old boys who had resorted to hiding in the library because their loud, boisterous roommates wouldn't stop teasing them. They didn't go to school and work hard on their essays and get picked on for being bookworms. They didn't have to pretend that they had severely ill relatives so no one questioned where they disappeared off to each month, oh no.

Except for the fact that this was exactly what Remus Lupin's time as a werewolf at Hogwarts was quickly proving to be. Peter Pettigrew was a snivelling sycophant and James Potter and Sirius Black were quite possibly the most annoying boys he had ever met in his life, pureblood brats with huge egos and a sense of entitlement the both of them. Who knew what they'd be like if they ever found out that he was a werewolf? He hated Hogwarts, he hated it!

Then Lily Evans, the girl with flaming red hair and beautiful green eyes, smiled at him from across the library and Remus realised that maybe he didn't hate everyone. No he didn't hate it here; he just wished that Potter, Black and Pettigrew would stop being so mean.


	23. Orchid

**_(A.N: Just a quick apology for not having written anything for so long. Real life has been busier than I'd thought possible; I've not had time to write anything other than essays for months.)_**

XXIII. Orchid

_Rare beauty._

Viktor was used to seeing supposedly beautiful women throw themselves at his feet – so used to it, in fact, that he was beginning to wonder whether there was a truly beautiful woman left on the planet. Many of those women were attractive, of course they were, but none of them were really _beautiful_. They wanted him for his money, his talent, his fame, and that was enough to make even the best of them seem hideous.

His friends said that he was an idiot, that in his position they would have made the most of all the attention they were getting, but what did any of them know? None of these girls would ever have spared him a second glance had it not been for his abilities as a Quidditch player, so why should he pay them the slightest bit of attention? They were fame-seeking, money-grasping and completely, utterly shallow. Hideous, every single one of them.

Every single one except her – the one who was almost always at Harry Potter's side, the one with curly brown hair, dark eyes and a constantly focussed expression. She was the only one who didn't go out of her way to get his attention, and consequently hers was the only attention he wanted.

It didn't take him too long to find out who she was. Everyone there seemed to know her, some treating her with barely concealed awe, some unconcealed dislike, but everyone knew who she was. Her name was Hermione, a name as unusual as the girl herself, a name that he couldn't, despite his best efforts, ever quite figure out how to say properly. Its syllables were as alien on his tongue as her attitude to him: alien but far from unpleasant.

He also managed to find out that she liked spending time in the library, so for the first time in his life he began to go therefore himself. He had never been one for spending time indoors, preferring the free open spaces of the Quidditch field, the lake, the forest – but the inside of Hogwarts was welcoming in a way that Durmstrang certainly was not. His friends taunted him mercilessly when they found out what he was doing, guessing immediately that it certainly wasn't the books that had so suddenly and completely captured his attention. Viktor ignored them; what did any of them know?

Hermione always looked so serious – in fact he had never seen her smile properly. He wanted to see her smile. The moment he realised this was the moment when he decided that Hermione was going to go to the Yule Ball with him. Yes, she would go to the Yule Ball with him and she would smile and laugh and be happy: not like every other girl in the place was in his presence, but really, truly happy. She was a rare girl, that one, always with his head in a book and ink on her hands and an astonishing look of focus in her eyes: yes, a rare girl indeed and, in Viktor's mind, the only truly beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.


	24. Angrec

XXIV. Angrec

_Royalty_

It was raining when Merope went outside to gather the flowers for her potion. It was always safest for her to gather ingredients in miserable weather; her brother and father were far too suspicious, but they'd always fall asleep when it rained like this, when she'd slipped herbs into their tea to make them sleep. She couldn't run away (not until she had Tom to escape to, which soon enough she would) but she could certainly sneak out in the rain. They'd never know a thing.

"If I see you looking at that muggle again, girl, I'll rip your eyes out," her brother had hissed at her the last time Tom had been near. It wasn't an empty threat; that was why she was out to gather two types of herbs – one to make them sleep, one to make him hers forever.

She sighed, wishing that she could see Tom outside in the rain. Just once, please, just once… but no. It wouldn't be fitting. Princes like him were never bedraggled and mud-stained.

Merope gathered the last of her flowers, the last of her herbs and ran back to the house, noticing as she ran that the sky was clearing. The sun smiled down at Merope. She smiled back, safe in the knowledge that Tom, her brave prince, would soon be hers and she would never have to gather flowers in the rain again.


	25. Abatina

XXV. Abatina

_Fickleness._

Ron Weasley had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He always had done and, as far as Hermione was concerned, he always would do. Twelve years of marriage hadn't knocked any sense into him at all; he was still as fickle as he had been as a teenager, still couldn't seem to realise that some of the things he said were just plain rude. That was why Hermione had locked herself away in her study and was seething with annoyance.

Suddenly there was a knock on her door. Hermione glared at it, wondering why he wouldn't leave her alone. The study was her sanctuary, the only place in the world where she could get any peace (having two – no, three children meant that there was never a quiet moment in her lift) and now he seemed determined to ruin even that.

There was another knock.

"What is it?"

The door opened to reveal a scared-looking Hugo and a half-asleep Rose. Hermione immediately wished she hadn't snapped; it wasn't their fault their father was a complete idiot.

"What is it, darlings?"

"Hugo said he got woken up by loud noises," Rose mumbled. "Then he woke me up and now he won't go back to bed."

Hermione sighed inwardly. Why couldn't Ron learn to behave? If he did then maybe they wouldn't end up in this situation so often, with a pair of confused children appearing at random hours of the night and complaining about being disturbed by shouting. It wasn't fair on any of them. Why couldn't he finally grow up?

As she tucked her children into their beds for the second time that night, Hermione wished that neither of them would grow up to be as fickle and ignorant as their father so often was.


	26. Dahlia

XXVI. Dahlia

_Elegance._

When Regulus declared that he was going to marry his cousin Narcissa when he grew up, he was met with a reaction that was somewhere between exasperation and horror.

"You're not," Sirius had spluttered out at last, his face wrinkling up into that expression of disgust their mother always told him off for, saying he was being theatrical in a way that was utterly unbefitting of a Black. "Just because they want me to marry _darling _Bellatrix, that doesn't mean that you can have Cissy. She won't let you anywhere near her, for starters. Anyway, why would you want to marry your cousin?"

"Our parents are cousins, just like Cissy and I."

"Yeah, and you see where it got them," Sirius replied with a sneer.

Regulus tried a change of tactic. "You're going to marry Bella."

"No I'm not, Reg. You can have her."

Regulus didn't want Bellatrix. Bellatrix was a Black through and through, from her jet-coloured hair to her impossible temper. Bellatrix was just like their mother. No, he certainly didn't want Bellatrix.

Narcissa was different. She was ice and sapphires and spun gold and ivory. She was everything their family wasn't. She was elegant and beautiful and one day, one day she was going to be his wife.

Regulus had the sense never to mention this to anyone again (not that he could have spoken to Sirius even if he'd wanted to), but on the day they announced her engagement to Lucius Malfoy, Regulus felt numb. He never recovered. He'd never see such beauty or elegance again.


	27. Lotus

XVII. Lotus

_Purity, chastity, eloquence._

Anthony had never met anyone as aptly named as Padma Patil. Padma, the lotus, a symbol of all that was beautiful and pure in the world: it was fitting; it was perfect.

Sometimes he wanted to give Padma a bouquet a lotuses. She'd think him clever and laugh in appreciation… or maybe she'd just smile shyly and then sigh, tired that he hadn't done something more original. No, it wouldn't be a good idea.

Lotuses were beautiful but their roots ran deep: Anthony was saddened to know that he would never truly be able to understand her.


	28. Snowdrop

XVIII. Snowdrop

_Hope._

There were flowers on Arthur's bedside table when he woke up. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the figures that flitted around him, their voices floating between sheer panic and reassurance – and then he had seen the flowers.

Someone had left snowdrops by the bed. They weren't real snowdrops; it was still December and snowdrops wouldn't show their faces for a while yet. That was when Arthur wondered why he was looking at snowdrops – where was he? He had been on guard and then…

It flooded back to him. He stared around, realising he was in St. Mungo's. He had been on guard and now he wasn't. He was in hospital and it was Christmas (was it even still Christmas Day?) but he was alive.

The next thing he saw was Molly. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide. She looked panicked, but that was understandable given the situation.

"Is it still Christmas?" he asked, the words catching in his throat as he tried to speak.

"Yes, Arthur. It is."

Arthur smiled and glanced over at the snowdrops again. Even on this worst of Christmases, in a hospital ward on St Mungo's and with a war raging outside, there was hope. There was always hope. That was when Arthur vowed that he was going to survive this; he was going to live.


	29. Celandine

XXIX. Celandine

_Joys to come._

Eileen Snape née Prince's wedding had been a secret, hurried affair, held in a dusty, dingy chapel just down the road from her new home. The weather had been cold and damp. There were no bridesmaids and no guests other than the required witnesses. Her dress was one she'd worn a hundred times before, her hair undecorated, her makeup smudged by rain. It hadn't been anything like she'd grown up to expect – it had been a thousand times better.

Her parents had always said that they'd disown any member of the family caught associating with 'the other sort'. She had always known this and yet she didn't remotely care; she loved Tobias Snape with all her heart, loved him, and this love was made even stronger by the thought of an impending, loveless marriage to Abraxas Malfoy. Better to be disowned than to live a life like that.

Their house was as decrepit as the chapel had been (as ruined as the whole area was, come to that) but Eileen didn't even notice. As she watched the smog from the great mill that dominated the skyline float into the air, Eileen felt her heart rise. She was sure that in her future there were only joys to come.


	30. Red Rose

XXX. Red Rose

_True love._

"I've got a present for you, Lily flower."

Lily decided to ignore James' use of that hated nickname. It had been bad enough when she was nine, let alone nineteen, but James thought it was sweet – and when James thought a pet name was sweet, not even Merlin himself had the power to stop the boy using it. He was trying to be romantic, she told herself, not deliberately annoying…

He was doing a good job of being annoying though.

"Lily flower?" James said again.

He's not being annoying on purpose, Lily assured herself, then she turned around and was met by the sight of James holding the biggest bunch of red roses she had ever seen in her life.

"What's all this about?" she asked as he handed her the flowers. They were fresh roses and, at least as far as she could tell, no spells had been cast on them at all. They were simply red roses; nothing more, nothing less.

"Happy anniversary!"

Their anniversary. Today. How could she have forgotten?

Instead of admitting this, Lily laughed. "You're such a cliché, James!"

"So, you like them?"

He didn't need to know that she had always hated roses.

"They're from you. Of course I do," she replied – which was close enough to count as true, wasn't it?

She secretly hoped that he'd buy her lilies for their next anniversary instead.


End file.
